


Domestic Drabbles

by Afflitto, Cassbuttstiels, HetaliaFanficNetwork, Inharborlights, Lumeilleur (orphan_account), neonferriswheels, orphan_account, soillse



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Series, Fluff, Multi, Multiple Authors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassbuttstiels/pseuds/Cassbuttstiels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HetaliaFanficNetwork/pseuds/HetaliaFanficNetwork, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inharborlights/pseuds/Inharborlights, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lumeilleur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonferriswheels/pseuds/neonferriswheels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soillse/pseuds/soillse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is going to be a series of drabbles written by the members of the Hetalia Fanfiction Members. Each person has been assigned a ship and a date and is to write a drabble concerning there ship and the theme, which is domestic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adagio

**Author's Note:**

> For the first drabble, we have NorAus, written by Cassbuttstiels, or aph-mozart on tumblr.

The sky gave the impression that it was burning, the way that the rays of the setting sun seemed to strain through the clouds. The air was, in fact, the complete opposite of the warm painting the sky seemed to portray; it was brisk and sharp, something that was unusual for mid August. Sigurd inhaled the crisp air and couldn’t help the smile that ghosted his lips: this was his favourite type of weather. He continued his stroll through the woods in bliss, and when it began to grow too dark for comfort, he turned around and headed back home.

Home. It was a small cabin in a secluded little glade. There was a small garden that they had planted out front, him and Roderich, and the pathway that lead to the front door was made of smooth rocks spaced evenly apart. It was like a fairy tale, except there were no princes or princesses or evil witches living in candy houses; it was just two lovers living in blissful isolation from the outside world.

As Sigurd walked up the pathway, he could hear soft notes drifting through the open window. Roderich was at it again. He carefully stepped into their house, saying nothing as not to disrupt the other, and pattered into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. It was hot chocolate kind of weather, and as cheesy as it sounded, Sigurd really liked the idea of curling up in front of the fireplace with some hot chocolate while listening to Roderich play music.

Sigurd listened as Roderich paused in the other room, probably deciding what to play next, and then settling on a piano version of Adagio from The Red Poppy. It was a tune that Sigurd knew and loved- the entire ballet had beautiful music.

Warm hot chocolate in his hand, the Norwegian wandered into the living room, where the fireplace was going. Roderich was perched at the bench in front of the piano, nodding in acknowledgement as Sigurd walked in the room and continuing to play beautifully. Much of their life was like this, them communicating in small gestures and expressions rather than words. Sometimes, if they were in an argument, instead of yelling at each other, they would wordlessly grab an instrument of their choice and use the music to say what they couldn’t. It seemed odd, but the things that it created were beautiful.

**  
**As Roderich finished playing Adagio, he got up from his seat and silently came to sit next to Sigurd, wrapping an arm around the other’s waist. The two of them sat before the fire, listening to the crackles, and all that Sigurd could think was that this was it. This was his life, and he loved and treasured every little bit of it, even the bad things. Him and Roderich, they were an unexpected couple, but they fit so well, and sometimes listening to him play music while drinking hot chocolate was the best part of his day.


	2. Impromptu Movie Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Event: NedDen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Lumeilleur on AO3 or Aralize on tumblr

Matthias was halfway through the Phantom of the Opera when Lars trooped in, exhausted.

“Oh, you’re back!” he said, smiling brightly, “food’s on the table. And there’s some instant ramen in the cupboard, if it isn’t enough. How was the meeting?” He glanced at Lars expectantly as he tossed another handful of heavily buttered popcorn into his mouth. He looked very at home, a blanket draped across his legs and a plastic bowl resting on his lap.

Lars gave a non-committal grunt, kicking off his shoes. Matthias shrugged, turning his attention back to the television. It had taken a lot of string pulling to get a “lost” movie converted into a disc, and he was going to enjoy it.

Lars unbuttoned his jacket and hung it neatly on the hook, straightening it a few times before he was satisfied.

“You should go to sleep,” Matthias said, still staring at the screen, captivated by Christine’s voice. He would’ve sent flowers to Aud then and, a large bouquet of red roses with a nice satin ribbon. That is, if it wasn’t for the fact that the film was about a hundred years old and the actress had been dead for quite a while.

He sighed, trudging his way down the hallway. It took Lars about seventeen seconds to remember that he was not in his own house, and Matthias’ kitchen was the other way. It took another nine seconds before he decided that walking all the way to get food was not worth it.

Matthias glanced up curiously when the footsteps stopped. “You still here?” he asked, scrunching his brow in confusion, “aren’t you hungry or something? I spent all afternoon cooking food that you liked. Your recipes are odd. And difficult.”

Lars grunted again as he slowly made his way to the couch.

“What are you doing?” Matthias asked, worried.

He answered by lowering himself onto the seat and easing himself into a starfish position across the length of the couch. The almost-empty bowl clattered on the floor, causing buttery popcorn to roll onto the floor.

On a regular day, when it was still bright outside, when Lars wasn’t sleep deprived and it wasn’t immediately after an extremely exhausting meeting with his boss, he would quickly get up, pick up all the plastic bowl and popcorn and wash the bowl so it was all nice and butter-free. He might even wash the carpet, just to make sure.

But he was tired, and a tired Lars did not give a single fuck at all. It was a well known fact, but not well known enough to stop Matthias from getting up and trying to clean up the mess.

“Don’t move,” Lars murmured lethargically as he tugged at Matthias’ arm, “S'comfortable. Don’t mess it up.” Matthias stared at him owlishly, before letting out an amused chuckle and sinking back down into his seat. Lars adjusted his position so he was on his back and his head was rested on Matthias’ lap. His legs dangled off the side of the couch.

“You’re like a cat,” Matthias mused as he used his clean hand to gently run his fingers through the taller man’s stiffly gelled hair. Lars made a noise of lazy annoyance and half-heartedly pushed Matthias’ hand away. In the end, he gave in to the Dane’s persistence and resigned to watching the movie through half lidded eyes. It was relaxing, in its own odd way

“’M not a cat,” he said after a moment of thought, “I’m a bun.”

Matthias hummed. “A bun, huh? What type of bunny?” He asked as he stroked the bottom of Lars’ chin.

“A cute one, ” Lars glared at a laughing Matthias.

“Sure,” Matthias said, unable to keep his impish grin off his face, “Like the lop, huh? Miffy?”

“’S name’s not Miffy,” he muttered as he stared determinedly ahead at Raoul. Matthias laughed a little before he cursed. “You almost made me miss that part,” he said, lightly prodding the back of Lars’ head, “did you do that on purpose?”

“Maybe,” Lars said, stretching like a tall, thin cat in a designer business suit, “maybe not.”

They watched in silence as the Phantom and the viscount dueled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever watched this one with you,” Matthias said suddenly, pursing his lips, “have I?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve seen this one at all.”

He could feel Matthias shift as he sat up straight. Oh boy.

“It took a lot of work, but I managed to find it!” he said proudly, “It took a lot of talking around-With Ber, and Gil helped a lot, too! But I managed to snag this baby! I even got it turned into a CD, see?” he said, gesturing triumphantly at the screen.

“And then I had to make sure the media wouldn’t find out about this-what a field day they would have, huh. Such a classic. Brings back such memories. I wanted to keep it special, you know? A little selfish of me, but I don’t regret a thing.”

“Mm hmm,” Lars said, batting Matthias’ face playfully, “I wasn’t listening, by the way.”

He heard a few mutters of “no appreciation” and grumbling about the amount of trouble he had to deal with to be watching this right now, but he eventually ceased his complaining and watched it with him quietly.

“This is really nice,” Matthias said as he absentmindedly traced small shapes on Lars’ face in a soothing manner.

“Mm,” he agreed, “’S nice.” His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. He stifled a yawn.

Matthias smiled knowingly and tugged the blanket so it covered Lars too.

“Smells like cakes,” he said drowsily as he burrowed deeper into the blanket. He closed his eyes and enveloped himself in the smell. Danishes and almond butter cakes and jam pastries.

“I’ve been making too many, then,” he replied, “What’s you’re favourite?”

“I don’t have one.” Lars voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

It was quiet for a while again.

“There’s a word in Danish,” Matthias said thoughtfully, “An adjective.  _Hyggelig_. Do you know what’s ’ _hyggelig_ ’, Lars?”

“Is this ’ _hyggelig_ ’?” He asked, half asleep.

“I suppose.”

“Then I like  _hyggelig_  a lot,” Lars murmured as his eyes fluttered shut to the melody of the beautifully tragic and tragically beautiful voices.


	3. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: SuFin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by neonferriswheels, or littleicelandthings on tumblr.

                “Papa, you got the milk, right?” Peter asked, his nose pressed against the grocery list. He had been put in charge of ticking the items off the list and making sure that the food was in the cart and he was taking his job very seriously. He had double and triple checked each one to the point that Tino had to tell him that they were extra sure it was in the grocery cart.

                “Mm,” Berwald nodded, placing the milk into the cart, behind the child’s back.

                “Cause with the snow coming we hafta be prepared for anything!” Peter seriously pointed out as he used his blue highlighter to put a big check next to Tino’s big printed letters. “Okay, now we need jam!”

                “Peter, we’ll get the jam in a bit,” Tino replied and peeked over the little boy’s shoulder to see what the next item was on the list.

Tino wasn’t anywhere near as concerned as his son was about the snow storm that was on a collision course with their little town. He had grown up in northern Finland and was more than used to the occasional blizzard or five. He knew that Berwald was used to the snow as well and they were both more than capable of managing a little snow flurry like this. But how worked up Peter was getting was a bit adorable. Peter had been adopted from England and over on the Isles they didn’t get snow to the same degree as in Fennoscandia.

The Finn chuckled and shook his head at Peter’s protests and pointed to the next item on the list. “Ber, do you think you could grab a pack of cream cheese?”

“Yeah,” Berwald’s voice was a deep rumble that sounded like it wasn’t used much. He strode ahead of the cart and paused to examine the different brands and flavors of cream cheeses. His blue eyes scanned the packaging before reaching out to grab their usual brand. The cream cheese was deposited into the cart in Peter’s lap. In turn, the little boy checked off cream cheese as Tino pushed the cart up the aisle.

Soon enough the family had made it through the rest of the list and the checkout line with minimum drama. Peter had put up a bit of a fuss when he wasn’t allowed a candy bar from the checkout lane. Tino stood firm against it, but Berwald caved and promised Peter a sweet snack when they got home. A tantrum was averted.

Now he was buckled in the back of their car, playing with an action figure of his as his parents loaded the groceries into the back of the SUV. Tino returned the cart as Berwald slid into the driver’s seat and started the car to warm it up.

“Papa, do you think it’ll snow so much that we’ll have to make a tunnel to get to the mailbox and car?” Peter asked as he swooped his toy robot over his head.

“Mm, don’t think so,” Berwald replied as he watched his spouse jog back towards them. Outside, heavy white flakes had begun to descend from the clouds above. Already the parking lot was beginning to be dusted. “’S not supposed to snow that much.”

“Aw man…” the little boy didn’t even try to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Okay, let’s go!” Tino announced as he let himself into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. Berwald put the car in gear and off they went.

They were about three-quarters of the way home, when they ran into a problem. Peter was explaining the story he was orchestrating to his parents when he was interrupted by a loud, concerning bang. The bang came from the car itself and Berwald immediately pulled the car off onto the shoulder and put the hazards on.

“What on earth was that!?” Tino asked, twisting to look out the window to the road behind them.

“Did someone shoot us!?” Peter asked and his voice was strung between being panicked and excited.

“No, no one shot us,” Tino replied, shooting the boy a scolding look.

“I’ll check it out,” Berwald decided, letting himself out. Both Peter and Tino watched him circle the car and stoop down to examine the undercarriage and wheels. He returned and looked concerned as he indicated for Tino to roll his window down some. “Tire’s popped,” he informed his husband.

“Popped?” Tino’s brow crinkled with concern. “On what?”

“Dunno.”

“Do we have a spare?”

“Don’t think so. ‘Member we used it comin’ back from campin’,” Berwald answered, shaking his head.

Tino aggravatedly ran a hand through his pale blond hair. “So what do we do? The storm’s practically on top of us and we’re stranded on the highway.”

“Cell phone?” Berwald suggested. “Call for a tow?”

“I didn’t bring mine, did you?”

“Battery’s dead.”

“Sorry, that was my fault…” Peter broke into the conversation and sounded guilty. “I was playing a game on it.”

“No, it’s okay sweetie,” Tino turned back to his son to give him a reassuring smile. “We didn’t know this was going to happen.” He turned back to Berwald, who by now had a fine coating of snow on his shoulders.  “What should we do?”

“I’ll walk ahead an’ try to find a phone or gas station,” Berwald decided. He added at Tino’s worried expression, “Ya hafta stay here with Peter. Don’t want him walkin’ on the side of the road or in the snow.”

“Yeah, but-“ Tino began to protest.

“I’ll be fine. My legs are longer so I won’t be long,” Berwald cut him off.

“But I wanna go with you, Papa!” Peter called from the back seat, just as protesting as Tino was.

“No.” His voice was firm. “’S too dangerous. An’ it’s gettin’ colder. You stay here with Mama.”

“Papa-!”

“Peter, I said no.” Berwald looked his son in the eyes and gave him a stern look that quieted the little boy.

“Be careful,” Tino weakly said.

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” Berwald stooped down and leaned through the window to press a kiss to Tino’s lips. The Finn jumped a little at the sudden display of affection and was going to respond when his husband pulled away just as quickly. He nodded at him once before turning and beginning up the road. Tino heaved a sigh and rolled the window back up to keep the heat in, preparing for a long wait.

Tino had Peter get the blankets from the floor of the backseat that were normally kept for road trips and sudden trips to go out stargazing. He wrapped Peter in the quilt and zipped his coat up to keep him warm and fussed with the folds of the blanket some before he was satisfied. He then draped the other fleece blanket around his own shoulders and turned the car off.

“Mama, why can’t we leave the car on?” Peter asked, undoing his seatbelt so he could freely move about. “I wanna listen to the radio.”

“We don’t want to waste the battery or gas, Peter,” Tino explained. “Here, do you want a granola bar?”

“Yes!” The boy perked up.

“Okay, go into the back and get one,” Tino undid his own belt.

Peter made a noise of delight as he flipped over the backseat into the trunk area. “Can I have the peanut butter one?”

“Sure.”

“Mama, will the cream cheese and milk go bad?” He asked as he dug the box of granola bars out of the grocery bag.

“Let’s hope not.”

“Should we put them outside cause it’s colder?”

“No, they’ll be fine for now. Peter, don’t touch the milk or cream cheese.”

Peter stopped his hand above the bottle of milk and retracted his it. “Mama, do you want a granola bar too?”

“No, I’m fine for now,” Tino heaved a sigh and lightly closed his eyes.

“Mama, how long do you think Papa’s gonna be?” Peter asked as he hopped the seat again to sit down.

Tino sucked in a sharp breath and worried his lower lip. “…I’m not sure.”

“Mama, are we gonna hafta spend the night in the car?”

“I don’t know, Peter. Just… let’s have quiet time right now. You brought your DS right?”

“Yeah.”

“Play on your DS for a while.”

“Kay…” Peter opened his backpack, which he always brought with him in the car, and dug out his DS. He opened his granola bar and munched on it. The DS was flipped open and turned on and he began to play Super Mario Brothers.

Tino was playing a word game with Peter when Berwald returned two and a half hours later. He had the little boy up in his lap in the front seat who was now beginning to doze off against his shoulder. He squinted against the white wash of the snow at the tall figure striding back towards the car. Something large was being carried on one of his shoulders, and for the life of him Tino couldn’t figure out what it was.

He carefully shifted his legs, which were beginning to fall asleep, and leaned over to start the car again. At the movement and the sound of the ignition, Peter stirred and opened his eyes. Tino glanced down and smiled softly at his son. “Peter, Papa’s back.”

“Whub?” Peter gazed blearily up at his father, his expression dazed and still half-asleep. “Papa?”

“I need you to get back into your seat, honey,” Tino smoothed Peter’s hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “We’ll be home soon and then you can sleep in your own bed. Promise.” He helped the little boy scramble back into the back of the SUV.

Berwald tapped on the window, and now Tino could see the load on his shoulder was a new tire. He rolled down the window enough for them to speak. “A tire? Where did you get a tire?”

“Bought it,” Berwald replied. “I need ya to help put the groceries in back with Peter so I can get the jack.” He left the window and looped around to the back of the car, popping the hatchback open.

“Hi Papa,” Peter greeted, peeking over the back seat at his father. “Did you find what you were looking for? Can we go home soon?”

“Soon,” Berwald promised. “Can ya do Papa a favor? Take the food back with you?”

“Sure,” He reached to take the bags from Berwald and put them on the floor of the backseat.

Tino let himself out of the car and trudged through the snow, zipping his parka up and putting its hood up. “Where did you find a tire?” he tried asking again.

“There was a gas station that had a garage. I bought the tire.” Berwald replied as he pulled up the mat in the back to fetch the jack.

“And they didn’t come to help us why…?”

“Don’t have a tow. Told ‘em we’d be fine.”

Tino closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “That we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. Tell Peter to get outta the car. I need to jack it up,” the Swede pulled the jack and went around to the popped tire. “Car needs to be off too.”

“Fine…” Tino let the exhaustion he felt leak into his voice. “Peter, honey, I need you to put your coat back on and your mittens and hat, okay?” he called as he opened the back door for Peter and then leaned in the passenger side to turn the car off.

“Can I help, Papa?” Peter asked as he hopped out into the snow.

“Don’t think you can help with this, Peter,” Berwald replied, shutting Peter’s door behind him.

“Why don’t you build us something in the snow, Peter?” Tino suggested as he rolled the new tire over. Peter didn’t reply but instead crouched on the ground, watching Berwald jack the car up.

It took twenty minutes and a lot of bitten back swears on the Swede’s end to get the ruined tire off the axel. He was afraid he had broken the jack for a moment and almost said the one curse word he was never, ever supposed to say around Peter. But luckily it wasn’t broken and the entire crisis was averted.

Tino hefted up the tire to Berwald when he was prompted and the new tire was wedged onto the axle. Putting the new nuts on went a lot quicker than taking them off.  Even so, the air was growing colder and the sky darkening as the sun set behind the clouds.

“P-Papa, Mama, I’m c-c-cold…” Peter broke the silence that was stringing out between them all. Tino looked back and felt his heart ache at the sight of his son. He was shivering and chattering his teeth as he hugged himself to keep warm.

“C’mere Peter,” Tino extended his arm and Peter shuffled over to tuck under his arm and against his side. “We’re almost done, promise.” He wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulders and the both of them watched Berwald work.

“There.” Berwald scooted back and stood back up after another fifteen minutes or so. “All done.”

“And it’ll hold?” Tino asked, looking worriedly up at his husband.

“Mm,” he nodded in response. “Let’s go home.”

Tino nodded and picked up Peter, who was practically asleep on his feet. He buckled the little boy back into the car and picked the quilt up off the car floor and tucked it around him. “Sleep well, Peter.” He pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead and shut the back door.

“Tino, do ya think ya can drive home?” Berwald asked Tino when he came around to the front of the car. “I’m pretty worn out from walkin’,” he looked guilty. “Sorry. ‘Bout the tire an’ ‘bout takin’ so long.”

Tino’s eyes widened with surprise before softening. “Of course, Berwald. You don’t even need to ask. I’m sure you’re freezing. And don’t be sorry. I don’t think either of us could have predicted the tire giving out.” He opened the passenger side for Berwald and went around the car, sliding in on the driver’s side.

“I dunno, ya seemed mad earlier,” Berwald shrugged as he buckled up.

“Mad? Why would I be mad? Did I seem mad?” Tino looked bewildered. He thought back and winced a little. Maybe he had been a little short with Berwald when he first got back. “…I’m sorry if I came off sounding mad. I wasn’t. I was actually really worried about you. You were gone for so long; I was scared something had happened to you.” The Finn started the engine and the heat roared back to life. He sighed with pleasure at the feeling.

Berwald blinked, studying Tino. If he had been mad earlier, he had certainly moved past it and wasn’t now. And he had worried about him? The notion made his heart flutter some. He and Tino had been married for years and had the license and rings to prove it, but he sometimes felt like he had somehow bullied him into the commitment. Little comments like that did wonders to put his uneasiness to rest.

Tino glanced over when Berwald didn’t say anything in return. The Swede was gazing intensely at him. Once upon a time the look would have shaken Tino to his core, but now he could pick out the tender light in Berwald’s blue eyes and the obvious love radiating from them. He shook his head, smiling a little and chuckled some.

“You worry too much,” he said to the unvoiced thoughts he knew were swirling around in his husband’s head. Tino reached over to gently cup Berwald’s cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.  Berwald hesitated for a moment before making a pleased noise in the back of his throat and returning the kiss.

                Tino pulled back first and let his fingers linger on Berwald’s face for a moment before turning forward and maneuvering the car back onto the road. “You know I love you, right?” He asked, eyes not leaving the road and the snow swirling across it.

                “Yeah,” Berwald nodded once. “Love ya too, Tino.”

                The smile that was already on Tino’s face widened at that. “All right then. Now, let’s get home. I’ll make some hot chocolate for us and we can watch a movie.”

                “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

The snow fell thicker and thicker as the storm rolled into the area. The clear patch where the car had once been was soon completely covered over. By the end of the hour, the white blanketed the spot enough that it was impossible to tell that anyone had been there at all and with it the incident that occurred there was buried as well.


	4. At least tell me what I've done!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: FrUk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SotterDips, also sotterdips on tumblr.

It had been three days. Three whole days since Arthur had last spoken to him.

He didn’t know what happened or what he did, but it must’ve been bad! After all, this had never happened before. Actually, scratch that last part, but that wasn’t the point. Every time they passed each other in the hallway, Arthur would either turn around and walk the other way, or go out of his way to avoid brushing the other man. At first, Francis had thought that Arthur was simply stressed and needed some alone time. That was fine, and it had happened before, but it hadn’t ever lasted this long. And when confronted, Arthur had said nothing. He had no external reaction to Francis’s presence, and that was downright frustrating.

At the moment, Francis was sitting at their dining table, working on some unfinished paperwork. He would totally be working at his desk, as usual, but he figured Arthur didn’t want him in the room. It was all about him being happy, wasn’t it? As long as he gave Arthur what he wanted, wouldn’t this all blow over? Francis shook his head and sighed.

Arthur sat upstairs, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling whilst fondling the embroidery of their shared duvet. This really wasn’t helping the situation, he knew, but wasn’t he allowed to be a bit childish? After all, didn’t he deserve that? He was so serious all the damn time, he had to be. Francis wasn’t nearly serious enough for himself, so Arthur had to be serious for the both of them. That’s just how it was; that’s just how it worked.

But, then again, it wasn’t very serious or mature to have gotten upset over something so simple. But it was completely appropriate to be upset! After all, Francis had-

“We could’ve had it all, rolling in the dee-” Arthur pulled his cell phone from his trouser pocket and answered the call without checking the ID.

“This is Arthur Bonnefoy, how may I be of service?”

**“Yo, Arty, cut the formalities, bro. You sound upset, broskie.”**

“Hello, Alfred, nice to hear from you.” Arthur shook his head at his cousin’s antics. “And, no, I’m not upset.”

**“Dude, you get a stuffy nose when you’re upset. I lived with you till’ I was, like, nineteen. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.”**

He may not be very smart, but he’s perceptive. “I assure you, I’m fine. Did you call me for a particular reason?”  
  


**“Yeah, I need to talk to Francis about some-”**

“Call his phone, not mine.”

 

**“So that’s why you’re upset! What did he do this time?”**

“He didn’t do anything, Alfred, I assure you. I just think that if your intentions were to talk to him, then you should ca-”

**“Bro, he asked me to call you.”**

Arthur was startled at his cousin’s sudden solemnity; it wasn’t often he used that tone of voice. It wasn’t necessarily disrespectful, more so that it gave people the message of ‘I’m not messing around’. “Why on Earth would he do that?”

He heard a scoff on the other end of the line.  **“You of all people would know the answer to that.”**

“Why, what has he been saying about me?”

**“What he’s told me is that you’ve been ignoring ‘em for the last couple’a days. Listen, Arty, you’ve gotta talk to him. He’s your husband, bro, you can’t avoid him forever.”**

“What in the world are you talking about,” a sudden surge of anger coursed through Arthur’s body, “you ignore Kiku all the time. You disrespect him, you treat him like a dog, and he still stays.”

**“When did this become about me?”**  Alfred kept his cool.  **“You’re trying to turn this around so that I get mad and I hang up and I leave you alone. That’s not gonna work this time, because I talk to my boyfriend about disputes. You do not. So, I’ll leave you alone now, but you’re gonna have to talk to Francy-pants sometime, and it’d better be soon.”**  The calm and collected demeanor vanished.  **“Talk to you later, broskie!”**  And the line went dead.

“Talk to him soon, he says,” Arthur growled, getting up and beginning to pace around the bedroom. “Ignoring him for the past couple of days, he says. He’s not here, he doesn’t know what happened!” Arthur sighed, the anger completely leaving his body at once. This left him completely desolate of energy. He fell backwards onto the bed and sighed once more. “Francis doesn’t even know what happened. That was so damn childish of me, taking shots at his boyfriend like that. When did my younger cousin get so smart?” Arthur chuckled, “and now I’m so lonely that I’ve begun talking to myself.”

Francis finished his paperwork and began to sort the papers into file folders when his cell phone began to buzz. He put the papers down neatly and answered the call.

“Bonjour, c'est Francis.” He wedged the phone in between his shoulder and ear whilst he continued to sort his papers.

**“Dude, I just talked to Arty. Wouldn’t tell me what was the matter, but I think he’s gonna talk to you soon.”**

“Thank you so much, Amérique. What did he say to you?”

**“He kind of just beat around the bush, y’know? He sounded pretty upset, so I can guarantee it’s something ya’ did. Can’t tell ya’ what, though.”**

“Do you know anything that generally upsets him?”

**“Erm, oh! Yeah, he get’s really, really touchy when you insult his cooking.”**

A light bulb scintillated in his head. “Yes, thank you, Alfred. I’ll be going now.”

**“Aight, dude. Catch ya’ later!”**

Francis set down the phone and stood up, tucking his folders under his arm and heading up the stairs to his bedroom, devising his apology as he approached their shared bedroom. The door was shut, but it was by no means locked.

Knocking on the door, he softly called, “Arthur, mon chér, can I come in.”

There was a muffled ‘fine’ on the other side of the door. “He must be lying down,” Francis thought, before opening the door and making his way towards the desk, file cabinets on the left side of it, against the wall. There was silence between the two, until Francis began to convey his bleakness.

“Angleterre, please forgive me.”

“Why should I?” Ah, yes, finally, an answer.

“I don’t know, really.”

“There you have it then.”

Francis huffed, turning to face his husband. “Won’t you at least tell me what I did?”

“You should know!” England shouted in a youthful voice, sticking a finger in his husband’s face. “I saw you throw away my casserole when I cooked on Monday!”

“I thought that was home made ice cream.” Francis deadpanned, crossing his arms.

  
“Whatever; you should’ve just told me you didn’t like it!”

“So that’s what this is about? Okay, okay, next time you cook, if I don’t like it, I will tell you.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Iggy got up and began to make his way towards the door before his lover spoke out.

“And mon chér? I’m sorry.”

England promptly turned around, a pleased expression on his face. “Okay, I forgive you!”

France dropped to the floor, his soul pouring from his mouth in exasperation.


	5. Three AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5- Ameripan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Inharborlights, or prince-norway on tumblr.

_CRASH_

Kiku’s eyes flew open as his body jolted upright in the bed. He listened as the house became quiet for a moment, then the noise resumed with a sort of muffled, uneven thumping and scratching.

Kiku glanced from the alarm clock next to his bed to the lightly snoring form of his boyfriend, Alfred, next to him.

“Alfred!” He whispered, hardly daring to breathe. When he didn’t respond, Kiku firmly shook him on the shoulder. “Alfred, I think that someone’s downstairs!”

The blond man groaned into his pillow before shifting his head to the side. He cracked open one sleepy eye and yawned. “Whazzat?”

Kiku huffed and raised his voice slightly. “There is a burglar in our house!”

Alfred’s eyes flew open. “WHAT?!” He yelled, haphazardly trying to scramble into a sitting position.  Kiku held his breath as Alfred somehow managed so hit his head on the bedside lamp, sending it flying to the floor in a cascade of glass shards that echoed through the house.

“Please try to be more quiet! What if they hear us?” Kiku hissed, his eyes darting around the dark room as if an intruder could be in any corner.

Alfred pulled himself back up onto the bed. “Sorry. Are you sure that there’s someone here?” he whispered, his eyes wide in the darkness of their bedroom.

Kiku nodded towards the ground. “The noise woke me up,” he replied, reaching for the phone charging on his bedside table. “We need to call the police.”

“No way! We can totally handle a burglar by ourselves!” Alfred insisted. Kiku frowned at him and Alfred stood up, gently taking the phone from his hands.

“We can get ‘em!” Alfred whispered enthusiastically. He turned in circles as he scanned the room for something before striding over to their closet. He deftly opened the door and began rummaging around through the piles of junk in it, muttering to himself. Kiku slipped out of bed and padded over to him.

“So, I’ll take this.” Alfred straightened up out of the closet, an old baseball bat in his hands. “And you can have…” He awkwardly handed the bat to Kiku and went back to digging through the closet for a few moments before stepping back from the door, his arms full with a large pillow.

Kiku glanced at it for a second before putting his face in his hands. “Alfred, no.” The pillow had been a gag gift from one of Kiku’s brothers a few years ago: a full-sized dakimakura with (thankfully at least partially-dressed) images of Hatsune Miku on each side of it. Alfred had thought that it was hilarious, and Kiku didn’t have the heart to throw it away, so it had been hidden away in their closet for years. Looking at it now, though, Kiku could’ve burned it.

Alfred didn’t move. “Come on, babe! You could totally fight with it. Or just throw it in the asshole’s face to distract him while I rush at him,” he insisted, his eyes glowing with excitement.

Kiku was about to ask whether Alfred couldn’t check the closet for anything better one more time until another crash sounded from below them. He took the pillow reluctantly from Alfred and nodded. “ _Hai_. Let’s go.”

A few minutes, a couple of hushes, a ‘super cool ninja spy trick’ from Alfred that sent him tumbling down the stairs, and four band-aids later, Kiku and Alfred stood waiting just outside the kitchen door.

“Ready, darling?” Alfred whispered, a crazy smile lighting his face.

Kiku sighed and stood on his toes to place a quick kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “Please be careful,” he replied.

Alfred winked. “'Careful’ is my middle name. Well, I mean, it’s actually 'Francis’, but…” He shook his head and grabbed Kiku’s hand. “Alright, on the count of three, we burst in there, flip on the light and start screaming. He’ll shit himself before he can retaliate!”

“What?!”

Alfred let go of his hand and brought a finger to his lips, a warning to be quiet. Kiku stared at him for a moment, closed his eyes in defeat, and braced himself with the dakimakura.

“Three…. Two… One!”

Alfred’s excited screaming rang through the house before Kiku could even flip the kitchen lights on. He chased after him into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his pillow, and spun wildly for a few seconds before smacking the lightswitch. Both of them yelled as the sudden light blinded them, and in their confusion they knocked straight into each other and tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Alfred began swinging his baseball bat around wildly as he tried to untangle himself from Kiku, who narrowly avoided a blow to the head from it. “BRING IT ON!” He hollered, accidentally whacking Kiku’s pillow square onto the stove.

Starting to regain his sight, Kiku dove after the pillow. He used the stove to pull himself up, grabbed the dakimakura, and looked all around the kitchen for the invader.

There were a number of cereal boxes on the floor, a couple of silverware drawers opened slightly, and a number of brand-new scuff marks on the walls, but nobody there except for Alfred, who was still flailing around on the floor. Kiku frowned, cautiously scanning the kitchen again. “Alfred, there’s nobody here.”

The yelling stopped abruptly and Alfred paused his movements to look up at him. “What? But what about the noise?” He asked.

Before Kiku could reply, a sharp hiss sounded from a spot above him and to the right. He jumped back from the stove in surprise and looked up to see a beautifully dappled ragdoll cat watching him from a semi-empty cupboard. A swish of it’s long, fluffy tail sent a small box of Miso Soup packets flying to the floor where it landed among the cereal boxes and a few mangled cans of tuna.

“I think that this is our 'burglar’,” Kiku answered. He picked up one of the cans of tuna from the floor and peeled back the lid before grabbing a small plate. “The poor thing must’ve come in here looking for a meal, he has to be starving,” he sighed, dumping the contents of the can onto the plate. He carefully held the plate up to the cupboard to let the cat sniff it, then placed it back on the counter. He backed away, and after a few seconds of distrustful glaring, the cat leapt down from the cupboard and ravenously gobbled up the fish.

Kiku watched him eat, satisfied. Alfred handed him another dented can of tuna, and Kiku deftly opened it and dumped it onto the plate. To his surprise, the cat didn’t flinch away or hiss again at his approach.

“Well, he’s not feral,” Alfred suggested, finally getting up from the floor.

Kiku smiled at him. “Nope. I’d bet you anything that he’s a sweetheart that just got lost from home.” He redirected his attention to the cat, who was just finishing up the second can of fish. Kiku stepped forward and gently reached out his hand to let the cat smell it.

The cat delicately sniffed his fingers, then happily rubbed his head into Kiku’s palm, purring loudly. Kiku scratched behind his ears. “We should wash him up and scrounge up a bed for him until we can get him to the vet tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Or, today, I guess.”

“I think I know what will work for a bed,” Alfred chimed, patting the dakimakura.

**

An hour later the pair was back in bed, their freshly-washed and fed little 'burglar’ curled up in the warmth between their chests. Kiku clicked off his bedside lamp and scooted as close as he could to Alfred without squishing the cat.

“Well, we’ve done good,” Alfred sighed, smiling at him through the darkness.

Kiku tangled their legs together. “We have. Maybe we should adopt our own cat once we get this one back to his original family,” he yawned.

Alfred hummed happily. “Can we get a dog, too?”

Kiku sleepily kissed him and let his eyes drift closed. “Only if it doesn’t try to break into our house at three AM.”


	6. For a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 6- Frain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .Written by Afflitto, or potatobastard on tumblr

A dance is a dance even in patched socks on a creaking floor.  There is a quiet only the night can bring, when stars soften through glass and exhaled breath dissipates into the candlelight.  Whenthe fire has quieted to an easy murmur nestled in its glowing coals.

Antonio hums his own melody into the crook of Francis’s neck.  His lover’s arms warm him, though his fingers are still numb from trudging home through the snow.  They step in time, one two one two.  They break apart and rejoin.   Hands clasp.  Their bodies were made to fit together.

There are no demanding shifts or bills crowding the kitchen table or laundry thrown in heaps to be washed.  There are no cars screeching outside or obligations sapping energy.  There is only Antonio and Francis—and for a moment, the sparkle in Antonio’s eyes outshine the dark circles cutting beneath them, and Francis’s gleam to match.


	7. 12:37am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 7- NorFin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by soillse, or aphnorfin on tumblr.

12:37am. The sky was an array of iridescent hues; pink, purple, blue, Scandinavian summer nights never fully reached darkness. The cold night air blew gently across their laughing faces, tinting their cheeks and noses red, as the not so sober pair made their way home together. They had been looking forward to this night for months, Tino saw the advertisements for their favourite metal band and was ecstatic planning where they would stay, where they would eat and every other small detail as he always does, it’s one of Lukas’ favourite things about Tino. The way his eyes glisten as he writes list after list of details and how he mutters Finnish curses under his breath when things start to get complicated, even over the simplest of things.

           There’s a scream followed by a roar of laughter after Lukas trips and falls, pulling Tino with him. They roll around in the soft grass giggling and tickling each other which turns to small kisses and whispers and soon they’re up and Tino is carrying Lukas who is stubborn and tired and wants to be carried home by his knight in shining armour. Lukas kisses his face and tells him he’s the cutest and the best thing that ever happened to him, and Tino knows he means it. One of his favourite things about Lukas is the way he opens up around him, the special smile he has just for  _him,_ how he sings in the shower and dances to his favourite song; something he’s too shy to do in front of others.

           They finally make it home but trip over the dog – she gets extra treats in the morning to make up for it – and eventually they stumble up the stairs, holding onto each other for dear life. They topple over and onto the bed exhausted from the night’s events. Lukas is sure he has some bruises and Tino is positive someone might sue them tomorrow but in that moment everything is quiet, serene and nothing could ruin the bliss of lying together in bed, not even the ground this time. There’s no energy for showers or getting up so they awkwardly undress each other, laughing and whispering about how there better be coffee downstairs when they wake up. Tender words and soft touches are shared and they fall asleep in each other’s arms, hearts beating in rhythm with one another.

           12:37pm. Orange sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds, there are children, people, cars outside, and unfortunately, no coffee. It won’t be long until they get a call from their boss, or an email about work, so they make the most of the time they have in their own little world, staring into each other’s eyes, smiling and softly trailing over each other’s faces with gentle touches, reminiscing about their outing as though it was as distant memory.

And of course, planning their next concert.


	8. PruHun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 8 - PruHun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Ikaruss, or aphdenmark on tumblr.

“Erzi, come quick! The movie’s starting!” Gilbert waved from the couch with his usual stupid grin, a bucket of popcorn in his lap. The entire living room smelt like butter, and Erzi rolled her eyes, finishing folding the shirt she was carrying and putting it in the pile of washing she’d been working on.

“You couldn’t have waited?” She questioned light-heartedly, and Gilbert shrugged a bit, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth before responding.

“Nah.” It came out as more of a grunt than anything else, and popcorn bits flecked his lips as he closed his mouth again, but Erzi couldn’t bring herself to scold the Prussian. It was their two year anniversary, after all, and she supposed she should relax a bit. Just for today. “Come on, come sit in my lap.” He patted one of his bony knees as he moved the popcorn to the side, and Erzi brushed her hair over her shoulder before doing what he asked and flopping into his lap. His kneecaps dug into her thighs, but he smelt pleasantly of Old Spice. Taking a piece of popcorn, she popped it into her mouth and turned her attention to the screen.

“What are we watching?”

“The Book Thief.” Erzi choked on the kernel, and glancing back at Gilbert, she raised an eyebrow.

“You always cry at that movie, Gilbert.”

“What? So? It’s sad!” Defensively, the Prussian tapped a finger against her nose, trying to shush her. “It’s a good movie, liebling.”

“So is Mad Max: Fury Road!”

“That’s not romantic!” Erzi rolled her eyes and made a gesture at the train.

“This is? Look, her brother’s dying.” Gilbert puffed his cheeks out in distress and dumped his girlfriend on the sofa, right on top of the bucket of popcorn. Erzi felt the kernels go up her skirt, and she promptly kneed Gilbert in the chest as she tipped off the sofa and onto the floor, taking her popcorn with her.

“What about me, Gilbert? I’m dying!” She could see Gilbert smirking down at her, even from the floor, so she picked up a piece of popcorn and flicked it at his face, cheering as it hit him in the eye. Gilbert just groaned and lightly shoved her shoulder.

“Don’t joke about that.” He scolded, and Erzi shrugged as she sat up, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s sad.” He made a gesture at the screen, frowning. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, ‘zi.” There was a moment of quiet, and Erzi allowed herself to sigh, standing up and pulling Gilbert into a bear hug.

“You don’t have to know. I’ll always be here, Gil.”

“… Promise?” At his tone, Erzi couldn’t help smiling.

“Promise.”


	9. Focus On My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 9- NorBela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by literallyaviking on tumblr. 
> 
> Link to their ff account: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5847223/I-mSummoningPancakes

Sigurd can hear the wind howling outside of the house, whistling through the cracks in the wall and creating its own form of music. He can hear the rain, striking the roof in a symphony of staccatos. He can hear the branches of the tree slap against the outside of the house, a sound that is both rhythmic, comforting, and unnerving all at once. He can hear the thunder, far far away from where he lies as it rumbles across the land, a giant growling at the people below.

Natalya can hear the wind howling at the house, growling and snapping at the walls; pulling at the windows with long nimble fingers as it tried to claw its way to them. She can hear the rain as it strikes the roof, creating a cacophony of sound pounding down on them. She can hear the branches of the tree hitting against the side of the house, something like a monster trying to get inside and nip at her. She can hear the thunder, booming across the land like a bomb, but still serving to prove that it may seem bigger and more powerful but, in reality, is nothing but a sound.

Natalya can hear Sigurd’s heartbeat, beating slowly, slowly, slowly as she rests her head on his chest. A physical reminder that he is here and she is not alone. A reminder that soon the storm will be over, soon the cacophony will be gone, soon the wind will become soft again. He is her reminder that all things that she finds bad will be over eventually and he will still be at her side.

Sigurd can hear Natalya’s heartbeat, beating like a mouse’s as the rain continues to pour down onto the earth. He can hear her ragged breath as it spreads across his chest, warming it up as it does. Even as nature’s carefully orchestrated piece is playing outside, even as he can hear the wind whispering and calling for him, even as the thunder grumbles and chuckles, she is what keeps him here on earth. She is what keeps him from running out into the storm and allowing it to take him where it so pleases.

“Sigurd?” Natalya asks, her voice shaky as she laces their fingers together.

_Ignore the thunder, ignore the cacophony of sounds, ignore the howling and the whining and the long cold fingers reaching into the house. Ignore them crawling up your back, instead focus on my hand. When you’re scared, focus on my hand. Ignore the thunder._

“Thank you.” Natalya sighs, rubbing her thumb up to Sigurd’s wrist as she blocks out the screams of the rain and the wind with the sound of Sigurd’s steady heartbeat.

“Why are you thanking me?” Sigurd asks back, holding Natalya’s hand delicately in his own.

_Ignore the music. Ignore the wind, even if it whistles your favorite tune. Ignore the staccatos as they bounce across the roof, ignore them as they dribble down the walls. Ignore the tree branches as they rustle against the house, ignore them as they quiver out a calling to you, just focus on my hand instead. When you want to run away with the music and disappear, focus on my hand. Ignore the music._

“I should be thanking you.”


End file.
